


The Past

by Sakuyami



Series: Manaakitia mai, Aotearoa [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakuyami/pseuds/Sakuyami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aotearoa was adopted by a gold-haired stranger and left his house years later as New Zealand.</p>
<p>A companion piece to The Present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past

Aotearoa’s first memories were from when he was a small child, older than a toddler but not yet old enough to know of life nor of death. His favourite pastime was to frolic along the streams, and fill his ears with the clear song of the beautiful tui and charming korimako. Such resonant voices from their minute bodies, much louder than his own feeble voice. But his was a peaceful existence, until one day a foreign man with hair the colour of the sun and eyes the strangest green he had ever seen outstretched his hand to him.

“Come with me,” the man had said, “and I will raise you to be a great nation.”

“What is a nation?” he then asked hesitantly with his quiet voice. The word reverberated inside his chest, familiar and inherently right in a way he could not have explained. 

“You and I, child,” was the man’s reply. 

“But you look different. To me,” he said from where he knelt beneath the lofty fronds of the ponga, rich dirt scraped on his knees. His own hair was curly, the same brown of young kauri bark and as dense as the foliage above them that only allowed the slightest streams of light through. His skin was also dark, the light mud unnoticeable on his body. A vast contrast to the fair, translucent complexion and flaxen hair of the mystical stranger before him. 

“Still, we are the same.” The man stepped forward with his words, his smile reassuring and confident. At that moment, the clouds moved away to reveal the sun, who shone its rays behind the stranger, illuminating his dignified figure.

“Come with me.” 

And so Aotearoa took his hand, entranced by those startling green eyes.

The man introduced himself as England and took him to a grand manor far from his land, made of stone and brick, with plush woollen rugs lining the bitter floor, velvet furnishings in each room and a garden laden with flowers of every imaginable colour. 

It was when he was wandering through the garden that he discovered another boy like him, dark haired and tan, already there. Australia was bigger than him, but not much older.

England gave them shirts, which were to be worn on their upper body, and pants, to be worn on their legs. The buttons had given him some trouble before he had acclimatised and England would correct his attire every morning before their lessons. 

Although he could understand England and Australia with no difficulty, he could not comprehend what any of the servants were saying, nor could they understand him. That was because his people spoke English, England had said, therefore you must learn the English language if you wish to communicate with them. Consequently, he delved enthusiastically into his studies and was proud to admit it when he progressed further than Australia. It never once occurred to him to teach them Te Reo Māori, for he was too engrossed in his eagerness for new knowledge and recognition. 

As their English improved, England regularly spent more time away and was replaced by a governess. 

Aotearoa could not bear the perpetual quiet that descended upon the residence when England was absent and Australia was on a solo adventure through the grounds leaving him with only the great grandfather clock for company. 

It was on one of these days that he first felt it. It started as an ache in his joints, making his movements stiff and jerky. Later, it developed into a fiery burn across his skin, scorching his legs, chest and arms as it spread like a plague before culminating in a severe migraine behind his eyes. 

“Dear Lord!” Abruptly there were arms enclosed around him, large hands buried in his hair.

“Shhh, it will be fine. Nothing more than growing pains…” England whispered, stroking his hair until he was comforted and ceased to tremble. 

He had not noticed their position on the floor or the tear tracks on his face. All he saw was the enduring pain reflected in the storm that was England’s eyes. And not for the first time, he believed England was seeing someone else when he looked at him.

Years passed. The name Aotearoa gradually fell from use, as the immigrant population surpassed the native Maori tribes and was replaced by New Zealand.

He continued to grow from a child to an adolescent, the constant aches hardly a bother any more. But there were other changes to his body other than his height. His skin had whitened, becoming almost as pale as England and though his hair had remained distinctly brown, it developed a golden tint not unlike England’s. The changes to his physical body were a reflection of the unity of his settlers, the acknowledgement of their national identity. 

No longer was he just Aotearoa, but New Zealand as well, and his people longed for his autonomy. At last it was time for him to stop being coddled by England, and it was with sure steps that he returned to his land, leaving behind the memories of a curious boy in a distant, faded house.


End file.
